


Charity

by fatal_drum



Series: Hospitality [2]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abusive Relationship, M/M, Shaw Being a Manipulative Bastard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Charles and Raven are thrown from their home onto the streets, Sebastian Shaw gives them a home and a purpose. Charles slowly begins to suspect his mentor isn’t what he seems, but it may be too late to turn back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing Charles does is take a long, hot shower. He never knew tap water could be a luxury, that weeks of grime could seep into one’s skin until it feels like it will never wash off. As Raven sleeps in the room across from his, he strips off and _basks_ in the warm spray and thinks of never coming out.

There are clean clothes ready when he comes out, though not the sort he’s used to. These are more colorful, more fashionable than anything he’s  ever worn, though they’re a few sizes too large. He wonders if these are Mr. Shaw’s own clothes.

Days later, he has a closet full to bursting with his own wardrobe. Raven delights in selecting ensembles for him, some brightness returning to her dull eyes when she makes him turn this way and that. Charles wishes he knew whether to say how beautiful she looks in her new dresses. He refuses to look behind the veil and know for sure.

Not all of his resolve stems from ethics.

They don’t speak of what happened, or what he did afterward. He doesn’t get a full night’s sleep for over the first three weeks, waking every few hours with another man’s terror tightening his chest, fumbling for the lights so he can know the blood isn’t real. Eventually he gives up on turning off the lamp at all.

Instead he and Raven talk of their new life. How exciting it is to live on a ship, watching coastlines drift by or spending weeks without sight of dry land. How large the library is – they could probably sit and read until they grew old, and die without finishing. Soon they’ll have tutors to guide them through it, and though they complain, he misses the work.

All of this is thanks to Mr. Shaw, who calls him “son” and invites him into his suite some evenings after Raven’s gone to sleep so they can play chess and talk as if they were equals. Mr. Shaw who touches his knee or his shoulder and makes him feel strange and fumbling.

Mr. Shaw who knows what Charles did and refuses to call him a monster.

*

It could be anyone’s game, Charles realizes as he stares at the blown glass figures on the board. His pieces are clear as crystal, and Mr. Shaw’s are a smoky black.

“What is it like to have your gift, Charles?”His mentor’s eyes on him are thoughtful, meditative.

“I…” For once Charles is without words; no one’s ever asked him that before, and he’s never imagined life without the brush of other minds against his.

Mr. Shaw runs a finger along the edge of the board, not touching any one piece. “Can you tell what my next move will be?”

“I wouldn’t – “

“That’s not what I asked, my boy.” Mr. Shaw’s smile is warm and not accusing; Charles lets out a breath he didn't notice he was holding.

“I could reach deeper and find out, yes. If I wanted to, I could find your first memory of playing chess, or make you move your queen into my bishop’s reach, only to wonder minutes later how it got there.”

“And what are you getting from me now?” Mr. Shaw’s smile doesn’t slip as he moves a pawn.

 “I… it’s more the shape of your mind, right now. The feel of it from the outside.” Charles grips his knight tightly. “If I close my eyes, I’ll still know you’re there. Just like I know Riptide is a few doors down, and the captain is doing his rounds through the hallway.”

“So what’s stopping you from reaching deeper right now?”

Charles sets the piece down again, frowning. “Sir, it – wouldn’t be right. There’d be no point in this game, and… well, there are plenty of things one could do but ought _not_ to, aren’t there?”

“Exactly, my boy.” Mr. Shaw’s smile brightens. “And you’ll keep those morals in mind at all times, won’t you?”

He swallows. “Of course, sir.”

Mr. Shaw pats Charles’ knee, then moves to take his knight.

*

Months pass. Their tutors are excellent, often stretching Raven’s and Charles’ minds to satisfied exhaustion. Mr. Shaw refuses to interrupt their studies, and his evening talks with Charles grow fewer and far between.

That is, until Charles’ birthday. He doesn’t know how Mr. Shaw found out, unless Raven told him, and she rarely speaks to anyone besides Charles and the tutors these days. The cook brings up the largest chocolate cake Charles has seen, and the other mutants offer congratulations,  though no song is sung. Azazel offers him his first shot of vodka, then a second and a third, laughing and clapping him on the back. It’s not a party, but it’s far more than he ever expected.

The alcohol is still a pleasant burn in his throat and belly when Mr. Shaw invites him into his suite. The room is messier than he remembers, strewn with papers, but Charles gravitates to what he thinks of as _his_ spot.

“How’s it feel to be a man, my boy?”

Charles frowns, looking up at the ceiling. “I guess I never thought of it that way. Surely twenty-four hours hasn’t left some indelible mark. And I haven’t done anything to deserve adulthood.”

“You stood up to your family.” Mr. Shaw supplies. “You’ve lived on your own, gotten a job and a roof over your sister’s head – you’re not doing bad, so far.”

“I didn’t keep her safe, though.” Charles says, rubbing his eyes with both hands.

“You didn’t have the resources then. Now I’m giving them to you.”

“Why _are_ you giving them to me? You don’t have to do – any of this.” Charles gestures widely – the ship, his new clothes, his new life; the only thing here that hasn’t been given to him is Raven, away in her room.

 “Because you’re a very special young man.” Mr. Shaw says, laying a hand on Charles’ knee. Once again the touch unsettles and intrigues him, makes him want to peel apart the layers of the other man’s mind to see what lies beneath. Only that’s no way to repay Mr. Shaw’s kindness.

Instead Charles says, “I’ve missed our talks.”

To his surprise, Shaw agrees without hesitation, and what’s more, without the condemnation he expected for wanting to take Shaw away from his work for Charles’ amusement.

 “Are you really that busy?” he asks.

Shaw looks thoughtful, as if considering how much he should say. “It’s... not that.”

Charles can’t quite hide the hurt in his voice when he asks what else it could be.

“I’ve been concerned that you weren’t ready. That you wouldn’t…“

“That’s absurd – don’t you trust me?”

Shaw inspects his face carefully, as if the set of Charles’ mouth or the color of his eyes might tell him what he needs to know. “I guess it’s not fair to hide it; I’ll have to show you. More importantly, Charles, do you trust _me?_ ”

 “Of course. I owe you everything.”

Mr. Shaw reaches slowly for Charles’ chin, tilting it up. Charles watches, startled, as his mentor closes the space between their faces – their _mouths_ – until they’re touching. His eyes shut without his meaning them to, and Shaw sighs deep in his throat, brushing their lips together in a motion that sets sparks off Charles’ skin. The hand on his knee traces slow circles, and his mouth falls open. Shaw seizes the opportunity to lap at Charles’ lips and the tip of his tongue, strange, provocative sensations he’s never experienced.

Finally Shaw pulls back, carefully watching his face, and Charles’ cheeks flush so hot he thinks he might burst. He swallows once, twice, and bites his still-tingling lip.

“Mr. Shaw –“

“Sebastian.” he corrects gently.

Panic washes over him in waves. “I –I’m sorry, I can’t - “ He can see it all falling around his ears – their safe haven, this new life, his new friend, all because he’s too afraid to do what Mr. Shaw wants, whatever it is he wants.

Shaw smoothes a hand down Charles’ cheek. “There’s no reason to apologize. It was my mistake, and I won’t be angry that I – misjudged you.”

“R-really?”

“Absolutely.”  Shaw rises to his feet, his hand falling from Charles’ face. “Now off to bed with you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Charles leaves, but he doesn’t sleep for a long time, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about warm lips on his, long games of chess after dark, or cold nights huddled against brick walls.


	2. Chapter 2

Charles barely sees Mr. Shaw over the next week.

His tutors complain that he’s distractible, unfocused and unwilling to learn. Finally his Latin instructor sets him to translating a section of the Aeneid in a corner while she drills Raven in verbs. Raven watches him from the corners of her eyes but doesn’t say anything. Prying into Charles’ thoughts means having hers pried into as well.

Chewing on his eraser, Charles wonders what Mr. Shaw misjudged about him, if the man has seen something even Charles doesn’t know. Raven is forever pointing out habits and idiosyncrasies of his that he never noticed in himself; perhaps Shaw’s sharp eye picked up something subtle.

He’s heard of homosexuals before, effeminate men with perversions best left unspoken. Shaw doesn’t seem feminine to him. He stands with easy confidence, opens doors for Raven, speaks to his crew with the authority of a born leader.

Does he think _Charles_ is effete? That doesn’t feel right either, not with the warm respect Shaw lavishes on him. Maybe Shaw sees something more subtly warped inside him. He thinks of the man’s mouth against his, the instinctive thrill that rushed through him, stole his breath and muddled his thoughts.

He has no experience to compare it to. Maybe it feels better with girls. Maybe every kiss feels like that, natural or not. Charles is already a mutant; he doesn’t need to be an invert on top of that.

But Mr. Shaw didn’t kiss Charles because Charles wanted to be kissed. At least not wholly; you don’t kiss people, especially not men, without a reason.

 _It’s…not that._

 _I guess it’s not fair to hide it._

Mr. Shaw wants to kiss him.

The thought makes him flush hotly, it’s so unlikely, so appalling, so – for God’s sake, why? What can such a man be missing that he would want Charles?

His tutor clears her throat, leveling a brass pointer at Charles. He apologizes and scribbles down a sentence – _fortune favors the brave_ \- pasting on his most studious expression. Raven’s amusement colors the air around her.

If Mr. Shaw wants something, can it really be bad?

Only one way to find out.

 _Fortes fortuna adiuvat_ , he thinks _._ But he doesn’t feel brave, only tight-chested and a bit dizzy at the thought. He knows, however, that he won’t be able to concentrate again until things are right between him and Mr. Shaw.

It takes him another day before he can bring himself to knock on Mr. Shaw’s door uninvited.

*

“Come in.”

Mr. Shaw’s eyes follow Charles as he enters the room, arms crossed in front of himself, too self-conscious to sit.

“It’s good to see you, my boy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I haven’t seen you in days.” Charles says, stealing a glance at Mr. Shaw’s face. The man’s expression is calm, as if he hasn’t set Charles on edge all week, waiting for the other foot to drop.

“I’m sorry, Charles. I’ve been busy. Did you want to talk about something?” Shaw frowns in concern, as if he doesn’t know what’s coming.

“Mr. Shaw – why do you want…?” Charles loses his courage, unable to add the frightful and arrogant object: _me._

“I told you, it’s Sebastian.” his mentor corrects, fixing him with a level stare. “But you’re asking the wrong question.”

 “What’s that?”

Shaw smiles. “ Why wouldn’t I want you?”

That’s the last question Charles expects, and the speech he has half-prepared dies on his lips. “Because I’m… a boy.” he says, feeling ridiculous.

“So you think there are things men and women ought not to do, because of how they were born? Try telling that to Raven.”

And he’s right– Raven never argues with him more readily than when he says something unintentionally sexist or patronizing or any other number of things he never had to look out for before they met. And that was before their political science tutor introduced her to Simone de Beauvoir.

“I – I don’t know.” he admits, head spinning at Shaw’s easy rejection of his logic. “I’m far younger than you, though.“

“That’s very true. I’d hate to imagine I harmed you by using my age and influence.” Shaw lays a warm hand on his shoulder. “That has nothing to do with wanting you, though.”

“But you – you’ve seen the world. I’ve felt your mind – not read it, but _felt_ it – and you have more experience in life than I can imagine.” Charles can feel it even now, the firm strength of Shaw’s mind against his touch, honed with more years than he can credit to his mentor’s unlined face.

“I had a head start. Someday you’ll have experience to match.” He squeezes Charles’ shoulder gently. “You don’t have experience, but you do have _potential._ You’re just entering that point in your life where what you do now changes everything, and you have all the strength and intelligence to be a great man. You’re also,” He lifts his other hand to Charles’ cheek, “very beautiful, and to see those traits together in one package is overwhelming, sometimes.”

Charles wants to look away, to protest, but he can’t bring himself to do so. Shaw’s eyes are so rapt, so serious, that he can’t look away or reject his praise. Something settles in Charles’ chest, heavy and final and impossible to breathe around.

“Will you kiss me again, Mr. Shaw?” he asks softly.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Will you, Sebastian?” The name is powerful on his lips, elegant in its sound, and it changes something in Charles, speaking to his mentor like an equal.

“Whatever you want, my boy.” Sebastian whispers, and uses his hand to tilt Charles’ chin up, leaning in close. The touch still sets sparks off his skin, still makes him shiver, but the fear is gone for now, leaving in its place an anticipation that settles over him like a net.

Sebastian’s fingers stroke down the side of his face and over his neck, curling possessively as he deepens the kiss. Charles realizes his hands are clenched by his sides, that the distance between their bodies is too great; he wraps his arms hesitantly around his mentor, one around his body, the other curling up behind his neck.

The world collapses to this touch: their lips and tongues together, tasting, sliding, with a barest hint of teeth; fingers trailing down his throat, over his Adam’s apple, stroking circles over his chest; Sebastian’s body warm and firm under his hands; the hitch of breath when Charles presses against him, and the firmness digging into his hip. Sebastian is hard for him, and that’s–

Frightening.

Humbling.

Intoxicating.

Sebastian presses him back against the wall, one hand cupping his hip, thumb rubbing circles around the bone until Charles moans into his mouth. Charles can feel the smile against his lips before Sebastian kisses the corner of his mouth, nibbles a line down the curve of his jaw and settles against his neck to _suck_ , and Charles can’t believe the low, desperate sound that drags from him, or the rush of heat to his groin that sears away all thought.

“Sebastian,” he pleads without knowing what for, just knows it’s too much to bear and his mentor can make it better _._

“Yes, Charles?” And his voice is far too steady, save the hint of roughness Charles suspects has to do with _him._

“I want – God, I don’t know what I want.” he confesses, gripping Shaw’s shoulder as he nibbles across his clavicle.

Sebastian’s hand moves from his hipbone to his belly, stroking dangerously low, and Charles whimpers, immediately ashamed of the sound but unable to form an apology.

“If you don’t know, how can I help you?” Sebastian whispers against his throat, and Charles bites his lip. “Unless it’s this you want?” His fingers cup Charles’ groin, and this time he isn’t ashamed of his cry.

“Yes, p-please – “ he manages, and deft fingers rub him through his trousers, part the fabric, and finally close over his heated, needing flesh.

“You’re sure?” Sebastian asks, amused.

Charles nearly bites his lip in two, and that’s the only answer his mentor needs, holding him with tight, clever fingers that leave him unable to think, to breathe, to stop the desperate noises bubbling from his throat: Sebastian’s name, pleas for mercy, things he won’t remember later, that won’t matter in the _heat_ that blazes through him.

Some instinct brings him to cup his mentor’s groin, only half-aware until Sebastian hisses, stroking him faster. He squeezes the firm bulge, feeling every detail through Sebastian’s thin trousers. His fingers are less smooth opening the trousers, and he fumbles a bit, but Sebastian’s groan goes straight to his cock, and it’s all the encouragement he needs to wrap his fingers tight.

“Beautiful boy,” Sebastian pants, biting down hard between Charles’ neck and shoulder. It _hurts_ , but not like common things do; it’s a hurt that complements the grasp of Sebastian’s fingers, the heat of breath on his neck, and sharpens them. Maybe that’s what sex is always like, but he doesn’t think so and doesn’t care.

When Sebastian licks the sore spot he’s left, the sensations all catch up with Charles at once, pooling and tightening in his groin, coming out all at once so loud and bright he doesn’t know if the shout is in his head or his throat, just knows it’s _good_ , that he doesn’t want it to stop, even if it kills him.

Once he can breathe again, he remembers the firm flesh in his palm. Sebastian’s hand wraps around his as he strokes, guiding and encouraging as Charles learns him bit by bit. His mentor lasts a great deal longer, to his shame, but the low rumbling in the man’s throat enthralls him. The semen that spurts over his fingers feels like the highest praise imaginable, and he stares at it for a long moment before bringing his hand to his mouth.

It doesn’t taste any better than his own, but the dark look in Sebastian’s eyes is worth it, and the kiss his mentor pulls him into makes his body thrum with contentment.

Finally Sebastian pulls back, stroking Charles’ cheek. “I shouldn’t keep you out of bed; your tutors would never forgive me in the morning.”

Charles leans into the touch with a sigh. “They’re your employees.”

“Don’t pout, my boy; there will be plenty of time for the things you want to do.” Sebastian’s voice comes from low in his throat, and even if it’s too soon, Charles shivers.

Despite the sweet lassitude in his body, Charles doesn’t sleep for a long while, his head too full of Sebastian and the boundaries they’ve crossed, will cross, together. _All the things you want to do -_ – and he doesn’t even know what they are yet, but Sebastian will teach him.

Part of him still wonders if this is all right, if he should really be doing this with a man, with _this_ man. But that part of him feels far away, and the contentment is far more vivid, finally pulling him into a dreamless sleep.

*

The changes after that are subtle. By day, Sebastian is his mentor, though he can’t seem to stop touching Charles, leading him around by an arm over his shoulder, congratulating him with a warm hand on his back or a ruffle of his hair. If the other mutants know, they don’t say anything, though he thinks he catches Raven’s eyes lingering on them sometimes.

By night… Charles has no words for what happens by night. It’s all marvelous and strange and a little frightening, and he wouldn’t give it up for anything. Sebastian doesn’t have time for him every evening, but when he’s absent for more than a few days, his whispered suggestions are enough to keep Charles occupied for nights at a time, lying awake with flushed skin and wondering if such things are really possible. For the most part, they appear to be.

He knows better than to think they can hide it forever, but he isn’t prepared when Raven follows him into his room after their lessons one day, locking the door behind her.

“What are you playing at?” she demands, hands on her hips.

“What do you mean, darling?” Charles asks, knowing immediately what she means, just as he knows she isn’t buying his innocent look.

“I tried to find you last night and you were _gone._ ”

“Do I have to stay in one spot all the time?” he asks, irritated. “Maybe I was hungry, or –”

“Idiot, I know you weren’t down in the kitchen getting milk and cookies.”

Charles has no answer for that, studying the pattern of the carpet as she connects the dots.

“It’s Mr. Shaw, isn’t it?”

“I…”

“What is he, forty? You said yourself that we don’t _sell_ ourselves!”

Charles’ head snaps up. “It’s not like that!”

“Then what is it like?” she asks.

“He, I… I came to him.”

She listens as he describes that first kiss, Sebastian’s acceptance when he runs scared, and Charles’ days of distraction before he returns to the suite. He doesn’t tell what happened afterwards, but something in her eyes says she has already guessed.

“You’re sure?” she asks finally.

“Positive.”

“You’ve never even had a girlfriend.” she points out. “Someone your own age.”

“I… I don’t _want_ to. I’m happy like this.”

She gives him a long, hard look before folding him in her arms.

“Just be careful, Charles.” she says in his ear. “If he hurts you. I’ll kill him.”

And he laughs, because they both know that won’t happen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Genetics really is a modern field. The paper Raven discusses came out in 1952, ten years before the events of XMFC. Before that, there was strong evidence for DNA as the molecule of heredity – as opposed to, say, protein - but there was still doubt in the scientific community. At this point, we didn’t even know DNA was shaped like a double helix. /geekattack

“What are you reading?”

“Homework.”

Raven lifts the journal absently, displaying the cover without averting her eyes from the page. Charles recognizes a diagram of a eukaryotic cell and the title of a scientific publication.

“Homework’s more interesting than saying hello to your brother?”

Raven sticks her tongue out at him but finally looks up, her brown eyes alight with excitement. “They’ve proven it. DNA really _is_ what determines heredity. Deoxyribonucleic acid.” The word sounds elegant on her lips, less outlandish than when their tutor says it.

“That – that’s wonderful. I didn’t know you were that interested in science, though.”

Her fingers skim along a black-and-white diagram. “Well, just imagine, Charles! If we can understand DNA, we can understand our mutations – and ourselves. We could prove we’re not monsters, just humans with different alleles. We could – we could even cure ourselves, or make _them_ like _us._ ”

“Cure…”

He thinks of his room at home, his photos of Einstein and other luminaries, his favorite blue jumper and the odds and ends of his childhood – all taken  from him because of what he and Raven are. If there were a cure, could he have it back?

Would he want it?

 _You can never go back_ , he recalls reading somewhere, and really it should be no contest. He had never been accepted at home for what he is, never gone to bed knowing his sister was safe tonight and would be safe tomorrow. He’d never gotten dizzy looking at some heiress and imagining a future between them.

 “I want to do this.” Raven says finally, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Do what?”

“This!” She waves the journal in his face. “One of the authors is even a woman, Martha Chase. Do you think I could do it, Charles?”

“Absolutely.” he says reflexively, and she puts the journal down to hug him tightly. For a second her hair flickers red before it pales again.

The selfish part of him realizes a career in research can’t happen on this ship, that it won’t help Sebastian’s cause. But her excitement bubbles against the surface of his mind, warm and bright and a little nervous, and he pushes the thought aside guiltily.

“What’s got you two so excited?”

Charles looks over Raven’s shoulder to see Sebastian leaning with one hand on the doorway, and the man’s smile makes his heart beat faster.

Raven lets go of Charles to tell Sebastian excitedly of bacteriophages and their prey, of radioisotopes and centrifuges and hours of careful experiments.

Sebastian shakes his head fondly. “We learn more every year, don’t we? But it’s not bacteria you’re interested in.”

“Not in the long run.” she admits. “Imagine if we knew how our mutations worked, if we could find out which base pairs make us different.”

Sebastian’s gaze fixes on the journal. “I used to think I could isolate the cause. I tried for years with my subject, my student - but we never did discover what made him different.”

“What was his name?” Raven asks, looking at Charles; it’s the first they’ve heard of Shaw working with anyone before Riptide and Azazel.

“Erik. Erik Lehnsherr.” Sebastian’s eyes go vague, and Charles can feel the thoughts churning just beneath the surface, thoughts he’s been trusted not to breach.

 “Strange name.” Raven comments.

Sebastian shakes his head, and the fog clears from his gaze. “Anyway, that’s the past; _you_ _two_ are the future. Maybe someday it’ll be your experiment we’re reading about.”

“You don’t mean that,” Raven says, flushing.

“But I do. If normal humans can make that kind of discovery, imagine what one of our kind can do. You’re an incredible girl, Raven.”

Her flush deepens, embarrassed and pleased at the same time.

“Who says _they’re_ not mutants?” Charles asks.

“Good point. I suppose we’ll never know.” Sebastian lays a hand on the back of his neck, his fingers stroking just slightly, where Raven can’t see. “Raven, if I may borrow your brother?”

“Of course.” she says, and shoots Charles a look that makes _him_ flush.

*

Somehow they end up in the medical suit, Sebastian keeping up his casually paternal attitude until the door closes behind them. His lips are on Charles’ before he can ask what Sebastian wanted in the first place.

He realizes Raven was right as he grips Sebastian’s collar, and he’s not sure if he should be pleased or ashamed that she knows what they’re doing, but his mentor’s urgency is contagious, his roving hands baring heated skin and drawing needy sounds from Charles’ throat.

The steel exam table is cold under his cheek, the smooth surface giving no purchase to his grasping hands as Sebastian takes him with one shuddering thrust as a time, so hard the table rocks in time with them. Smooth fingers wrap around his member, stroking him so fast and tight that he thinks of asking to stop, to go slower, but Sebastian is coming apart over his back, sucking wet red marks onto Charles’ shoulder and whispering harshly in German. The words are foreign to Charles, could be endearments or coarse vulgarities, but their ferocity makes meaning unimportant.

When he finally comes so hard it almost hurts, he sees a flash: another room, another steel table, and row upon row of gleaming sharp tools. They don’t look like medical instruments, though, at least not pre-mortem ones – but then Sebastian is grasping his hair to pull him into a sideways kiss that’s as much teeth as it is lips and tongue, and the image slips away like water through splayed fingers.

*

Curled against Sebastian’s chest a few nights later, he murmurs, “You speak German.”

Sebastian chuckles, and his chest rumbles under Charles’ ear. “Among other things: French, Russian, Spanish… Why do you ask?”

“You spoke some the other day. In the medical suite.” Even in the afterglow, his ears turn pink with the thought of – doing what they did – in a nearly public place.

“I didn’t notice.” Sebastian runs a warm palm over his back, and he arches into the touch.“Well, I did earn my medical degree in Berlin.”

Charles frowns, struggling to remember the scraps of history he’s been given. “That was, what, the late ‘30s?”

Sebastian’s strokes the back of his neck, fingers combing through his short hair. “You don’t miss a word I say, do you?”

“I’m fond of you; of course I like knowing about you.” Charles presses a kiss to his mentor’s chest before the dates line up in his mind and he stops. “You – you must have seen awful things.”

Sebastian sighs heavily. “I’d hoped to save this talk for when you were older.”

Charles looks up at Sebastian, who has lost the relaxed expression he gets after being together, his face solemn, his eyes searing blue and suddenly decades older. It’s hard to breathe with that gaze on him, and impossible to look away.

 “Those were hard years, Charles. I made decisions I’m not proud of, and I witnessed things that were frankly horrific. I can only hope you never have to make those kinds of sacrifices.” Sebastian reaches to cup his cheek. “That’s why I’m working for a better world for mutants. So you’ll never have to see those things happen to _our_ people.”

Charles  covers Sebastian’s hand with his own, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. Even without using his power, he’s managed to find the one thing that could upset his mentor, just as he did with his parents and tutors. Unlike them, Sebastian isn’t angry or fearful; instead, he trusts Charles to share the burden, which feels like nothing less than a privilege.

“Good boy.” Sebastian says fondly. “Now, you should be off to bed.”

“I could stay here.”

“After what I told you, you really want to sleep? With your defenses open to anything I dream of?”

“I could handle it.” Charles says, and means it.

“You could, but I won’t let you. You’re sweet, Charles.” Sebastian strokes his cheek with a thumb. “I want to keep you that way.”

Charles accepts the apologetic kiss before bending to pick up his clothing. Sebastian always has his best interests in mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Charles knew the moment he met Raven that she would leave someday, and he would let her go.

Even if she fell asleep in his arms that first night, even if he grew up calling her _sister_ , something in Raven would never belong to him; she was a wild thing, a changeling brought into their home not by fairies but by Charles himself. He had made a niche for her where none was before, carved it carefully into the minds around them, knowing all the while that someday he might have to fill that niche in again, that she would be gone without a trace save the ones she left on him.

It starts with the Hershey-Chase experiment, the discovery that sparked her interest. After that, Sebastian orders every journal she shows a passing interest in, and their dinnertime conversation fills with references to transposons, double helices, and other esoteric topics. Then come the SATs, the admissions essays (proof-read by Charles himself), the tense look on her face each time Azazel brings the mail.

He should be happy for her, and really he is. He manages to smile as they pick furnishings for her dormitory (a single room, thankfully; no fear of some hapless roommate finding a blue mutant in the next bed one morning). He even buys her jumpers in Vassar maroon and gray.

Several times he realizes, coldly and suddenly, that he could stop her. He could beg her to stay, to work with him for Sebastian, and it might even work.

Or he could walk into her bedroom some night and place his fingertips on her temple, carefully extract thoughts and memories until she forgets she wanted to leave in the first place. That idea makes his chest tighten with more than guilt, and he pushes it back into the deepest corners of his mind, because Raven deserves better. Charles has chosen his lot, and if Raven doesn’t want a clingy brother and a nomad life, he won’t force her to stay. Even if she’s the only thing he brought with him to the ship. Even if she’s the only proof he had a life before Sebastian Shaw.

“I’ll write every week,” she says against his shoulder.

This isn’t the final parting he dreaded, but it takes everything he has just to keep his grip relaxed, to hug her like he won’t wake up tomorrow hundreds of miles away.

“Be careful,” he replies, squeezing tightly. “And blow them all away.”

“You’ll visit?”

“The first chance I get.”

Riptide taps on the doorframe quietly, and Raven kisses Charles’ cheek once before parting.

“Blow them away,” Charles says.

“Only because you asked.” she replies, and he can feel the regret behind her smile.

He turns to leave while he still can bring himself to do it.

*

Things are different with Raven gone.

Sometimes he goes into her room for a while, just sits on her bed and looks around at her things. There isn’t much left; she brought most of her books and journals with her. But there’s an earthenware vase he bought her in Cuba, a hide drum from Somalia, a set of postcards tacked to one wall (from Charles – neither of them have anyone to mail them to, so they settle for writing notes).

Once he finds a long red hair on her pillow. He leaves it there.

Sebastian’s solution is to put him to work, managing some of the day-to-day affairs of Shaw Industries and occasionally visiting executives to ensure their honesty. Few of them have minds Charles wishes to explore deeply, and even fewer are what he’d call honest, but he roots out the worst of them.

His mentor grows bolder in his displays of affection, taking him on trips to buy clothes Charles doesn’t really care about, sitting too close to him in public, enticing him to do scandalous things in the _library_ , of all places. Two of the crewmen resign over it, and Charles pretends not to hear the jokes that follow when he walks by, ignores the thoughts of _faggot_ and _gold digger_ they don’t know he hears _._ It’s humiliating, but he can’t blame them for what they’re thinking.

The jokes never follow Sebastian, and while Charles catches amused thoughts about what the crew see as their boss’s quirks, their respect seems deeply ingrained.

Raven keeps her promise to write every week, pages and pages on the brightest stationery she can buy, from canary yellow to cerulean blue. Soon the girls around her grow as familiar to him as film characters, her shy chemistry partner, the girl who never seems to bring her own pens to class and is forever borrowing Raven’s, the budding socialite who tries to latch onto her once she hears the name Xavier.

 

They hadn’t discussed her choice of name until he noticed the return address. _You’re my idiot brother, after all,_ she wrote. _It’s only fitting that we share a name, even if I’m subjected to would-be social climbers. If only they knew whose ass they’re trying to kiss._

 

Once he gets over the shock of seeing her profanity in writing – she does it just to bother him, he knows it – he warms at the thought of her using his name, pictures her signing each essay and exam _Raven Xavier._ Not that she had any love for her own family, either; even if she hadn’t liked Charles’ family, they never tried to _drown_ her.  

He makes plans to take her away for Thanksgiving. Sebastian gives him money to rent a flat in New York, and he falls asleep sometimes thinking of trips to the Smithsonian and walks through the botanical gardens. As midterms approach ( _like a freight train,_ she writes), he knows she’ll appreciate the break as well.

He doesn’t write much about his work for Sebastian. She never cared much for business, even with rampant intrigue and embezzlement. But it’s his work that kills the plan.

Less than a week before he’s scheduled to pick her up, Sebastian interrupts him at his desk.

“I don’t like how this deal is going.” he says, sitting on the polished wood.

“Deal?” he asks, confused.

“With Hammer Industries. They’re hiding something, I just can’t put my finger on it.” He picks up a red glass paperweight, rolling it on his fingers. “I could  use your help on this.”

“Of course,” Charles says, pride washing over him. “When’s the next meeting?”

“Sunday, in London.”

“But that’s – “

“During your little vacation?”

There’s a hard note in Sebastian’s voice that stops Charles, makes him search his mentor’s face for signs that he’s misheard. He hasn’t; Sebastian’s eyes are cold, his mouth a thin line.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that she’s _alone_ –“

“She’s where she wants to be – that’s why I’m footing the bill, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but –“

Sebastian sighs, head tilting back to regard the ceiling. “I shouldn’t have expected you to understand; you were born wealthy. You must think this all pays for itself – the ship, the crew’s salaries, your clothes, your sister – “

“I don’t–“

“It’s all right as long as you’re comfortable and well-fucked, isn’t it?”

“You know that’s not true -”

“Don’t tell me what I _know_!” Sebastian shouts, and there’s a crash– the paperweight hits the wall,  shattering into a hundred pieces. Charles stares at it, wide-eyed and remembering earlier days. 

“I – I’m sorry. I was being selfish.” His hand finds Sebastian’s, and he strokes it as if that will fix anything. “You’ve been very good to us, and I should have thought before I spoke. Of _course_ I’ll be there. Raven will – she’ll understand.”

“You’re sure.” Sebastian says, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely.” He presses a kiss to Sebastian’s mouth to reinforce the point, and his mentor’s hand fists in his hair.

“Good boy,” Sebastian murmurs, fingers pulling until Charles’ neck is arched, exposing his throat. Charles’ heart races, though he doesn’t know if it’s from the fight or the promise in his mentor’s tone. “You’ve been working hard today. You could use a break, don’t you think?”

The door to Charles’ small office is shut; Sebastian clears his desk with one sweeping hand and sets to stripping Charles efficiently, presses him to the polished wood. It’s the last thing Charles is in the mood for, but he’s at least grateful the fight is over and his mentor is in a good mood, even if the wood bites into his hips with each movement, and Sebastian’s fingers grip him more tightly than he likes.

The glass shards glitter  across the room, and he watches them as he composes apologies to Raven in his mind.


End file.
